


we are

by buries



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Future Fic, Season/Series 02, Speculation, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:56:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5597047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>the body heals itself, just as the heart does.</i> or the one where bellamy helps raven get the strength back in her leg. </p><p>( for cadeswater @ tumblr. )</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are

**Author's Note:**

> for cadeswater @ tumblr, requested for the Bellamy/Raven secret santa fic exchange. a belated Happy Holidays and New Year, my friend!
> 
> this is set in some weird au of a future where everything evidently goes my way. I hope you like this, even if it isn't your prompt dead on.
> 
> title is from ana johnsson's _we are_. unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. ♥

It takes time, but Raven thinks she’s in the process of healing.

She isn’t a doctor, but she supposes Monty’s close to one. “You’re doing better,” he says with this great big, proud smile she’s only seen on one person’s face. He never talks to her like she’s beneath him. He never talks to her like he knows her body better.

He’s not even technically from the section where all the medical knowledge had been housed on the Ark, but she likes him a hell of a lot better than the people in the medical bay.

It’s always him and Bellamy, never just one of them. She thinks Monty feels some sort of responsibility for the state of her, like he could’ve stopped the drilling. He’d been in the control room, his fingers fluttering over that keyboard they’ve brought back to Camp Jaha. Sometimes she sees him watching her as he types away, trying to connect it to one of her boards like he’s some mastermind.

He is. It’s a pity no one’s seen it before.

Bellamy … She doesn’t know what to think about him.

To every appointment Abby’s made for her, he comes. Stands in the room with his arms crossed, questions on the tip of his tongue. Stares Abby down like she could possibly be a liar. She doesn’t know if Abby’s ever intimidated, but Raven knows she wouldn’t like to be on the end of his furrowed brows and unwavering stare.

The first time she tried to walk, he’d been under her arm before she’d realised she was being lifted. His hand had been on her hip, his side warm against her own. The pain had shot up her leg as hot as fire, licking away her skin, tearing muscle from bone.

“You’re pushing it,” he’d said. Quietly, a murmur that refused to break itself into a tremor in the ground. That’s how Bellamy is. Some shake of the ground no one senses coming until he’s storming right up to them in a whirlwind of black and dark blue and warm dark eyes. “Stop pushing it.”

Raven had only gritted her teeth in response and _pushed_.

She still does, each and every time, placing too much pressure on her feet, on that leg. Her other one has healed, too slowly for her tastes. Hobbling around the broken insides of the Ark suffocates her. It’s a reflection of herself, of how she feels as though her insides have collapsed, her bones shattering into dust. But he remains at her spine, letting her lean on him, even pulling his arm around her when she’s stupid enough to not walk with her little walking stick.

In her workstation, there’s a lot of floor space. He’s been cleaning, piling her stuff into boxes so she can try and follow Abby’s instructions on how to strengthen her muscles. They feel thinner than before, thinner than they’ve ever been, but she can see how her arms have grown thicker, her determination hotter.

It’s easier to move from one end of the workstation to the other with a destination in sight.

He sits on a stool near the window, waiting patiently for her as he watches. She moves her leg within the brace, picks the other one up despite the sparks of pain shooting up toward her hip.

Snatching the walking stick he’d stolen from the mountain, she uses it to hold herself up. It’s improvement. It doesn’t feel like much, but she can feel it in his stare, in how he doesn’t tap his foot in impatience to wait for her to come to him. Her fingers grip the handle tightly, pressing her blunt nails into the head of the lion carved into it. It’s metallic and had been too tall for her, making her feel out of place and like she didn’t deserved to have this one small thing that would help her. It’d eaten at her until he’d gone out into the camp yard and sliced it to a height more suited for her.

“You look like an old lady,” he says. It’s a sad joke to make, considering none of them will ever grow old enough to be men and women with a need for walking sticks. She appreciates it, though. She remembers seeing the flicker of those movies growing up.

She cracks a smile, breathing heavily. Sweat’s at her brow. She’s been doing this all day, pushing herself. Her workstation feels hot and clammy, even with the small window open behind him. “Shut up,” she says.

He smiles, hands in his lap, as he waits. 

“I’ll get you for that,” she says.

“I’m not afraid,” he shrugs his shoulder. His mouth remains curved upward. With the sun filtering in behind him, he’s blinding. She can barely see his features, but she thinks she can see them better than she has in a long while. Dark eyes, nice slope to his nose, the freckles dotting his face and speckled along his collarbone.

What another wouldn’t be able to see, she does. And she finds she has no desire to fix it. What she wants to do is grab her marker and connect the dots, but with it near him, on the bench beside him, she can’t do it without making her way over to him first.

“That’s your first mistake,” she says. With a grunt, she moves again. Slower this time. Without any shame in her speed, she pushes her leg, pushes herself. She knows she should rest. It’d be a hell of a lot easier if she did. But Abby owes her for the sting against her cheek, for the ringing of her own reprimands against her ears. 

Abby pays for a crime her daughter committed. But Raven isn’t so selfless as to let her off the hook. Not for how he constantly flogs himself for what she distinctly has heard hadn’t just been his hand on a lever.

Breathing laboured, her words come out slowly, “You’ll regret that.”

He smiles. “I’m shaking in my boots,” he says dryly.

Looking down at his feet, she curls up her lip purposefully. “Your boots are ugly,” she says.

“Nice,” he laughs lightly. “Getting a little desperate with the insults there, huh?”

Narrowing her eyes, she notices the distance between them isn’t so far anymore. Where she’d been by the door and he’d been on the other side of the long workstation, she’s closer now. She can see how the scratches of fighting Octavia are beginning to fade. The knick of her knife against his shoulder blade is beginning to heal.

She doesn’t reply, pushing herself again. She finds that she looks at him a bit too intently before she drops her gaze to her feet, to the floor she pushes herself on. It’s hard and solid, unlike how she’s viewed her bones to be, but Raven thinks she’s getting there. The body heals itself, just as the heart does. She’s seen how moods shift, how temperaments change. She’s witnessed it in him.

Still, he doesn’t tap his feet against the stool. He waits, patiently, and when she’s in front of him, she stops, leans against the head of her walking stick, and smiles.

Exhausted, burning, but with bones beginning to morph into steal.

His smile is small, but she thinks it to be so blindingly bright.

“Guess I’ll tell Monty to expect you this year instead of the next.”

Hobbling a few steps forward, she presses her hand hard into his shoulder, removes the walking stick from underneath her arm, and hits him hard on the ankle. He bends down to rub it, laughing instead of screaming out in any pain.

“Shut up,” she says, attempting to be stern.

When he rights himself and begins to open his mouth, Raven drops the walking stick, letting it clatter to the ground. She thinks she can step into him, and she does, between his legs while her hands press and her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt and the sinew of his shoulders.

She feels a hand settle on her hip to keep her in place, but it’s lighter than it’s been in ages. With no desire to keep her upright, with the knowledge he doesn’t _have_ to anymore, Raven can feel him only placing his hands there out of some insane desire of _wanting_ to.

And she gives into it, that very feeling, as she folds into him as best she can with him sitting and her standing. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she presses her chin against his shoulder. It strains her back, but she doesn’t care.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

She can hear the bemusement in his voice. “For what?”

“Cleaning,” she says. It isn’t what she’d wanted to say, so she chooses to amend quietly, “For this.”

“I just wanted to get away from Kane.” But his arms around her waist speak words he doesn’t say. Maybe ones he’s not ready to.

She rolls her eyes. “Your boots might be ugly,” she says slowly, feeling the weight of each word on her tongue. She hesitates to continue, keeping herself where she is, despite thinking she’s been hugging him for a little too long for it not to mean anything at all. “But you’re not.”

 _Together_ , she’s heard him rant, wondering what the meaning really is. But she thinks he can see it now. _She_ can.

The weight of her leg will always drag her footprints in the ground, making it seem ugly in her wake. It’ll always weigh her down physically, slowing her, making her more of a liability than an asset on the field. But she can see how he takes it and breaks it in his hands, forming it into a clump between his fingers to shatter it. The shards fall away to reveal something he likes.

She guesses. Raven doesn’t want to presume he sees what she’s witnessed reflected in his own gaze.

Pulling back from him, she doesn’t look him in the eye. Instead, with a surge of boldness, she detours from her path of removing herself from him to kiss his cheek instead.

“Thanks for helping me,” she says as she pulls back. Looking down at the ground, she sees her walking stick. Can feel his eyes on her, wondering, quizzical, even accepting of what she’s trying to make him walk toward and see.

Lifting her gaze back to him, she shoves his shoulder hard. “Help this little old lady to her workbench.” She sees him crack a smile, sparking something warm inside of her to flare in her chest. “Ugly boots.”

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: canonverse after the end of season 2- with Clarke gone, Bellamy was a little lost. but, so was Raven. they found each other to be good partners and maybe good for more than just working on new plans to distract each other from the air that hangs in camp that screams the silence of people who should be with them. cuddles are also welcomed in this, but maybe just cuddles and like cute head kisses?


End file.
